YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME

 I’ve gotten pissed off recently at the DVD and Blu-Ray industry.  Particularly the boutique industry, so to speak. And I’ll give you a couple examples of reasons why:

Number one:

Enemy Territory. This is a movie that has great sentimental value for me due to the fact that in 1987, I rented it from the Schofield, WI Super 29 grocery store's video section.  On a Saturday night I watched it with my mom. It was a low budget action picture that never even made the jump from VHS to DVD.  Hell, at the time I rented it, I'd never even heard of it. It may not have even seen a theatrical release. Finally Arrow, a company which I have been actually starting to think may surpass Scream Factory in quality and film selection, decides to release it this next year.  

But only in the fucking UK. That’s ridiculous. This is the most quintessentially American 80s film that I can even think of off the top of my head and it’s only being released in the UK?  It stars Ray Parker Jr. as a maintenance mechanic trapped along with Gary Frank in a gang-infested high rise project.  This unlikely duo must fight their way out.  My Ma and I enjoyed the hell out of this little CBS/Fox VHS release, and it has great sentimental value as Mom explained to me the cinematic history of Frank, and also Jan-Michael Vincent, another star of the film.  Tony Todd makes an early appearance here as a frighteningly intimidating leader of the film's gang, the Vampires.  So being released in the UK alone makes no sense to me.

Ditto is the case with Brian DePalma’s The Fury.  It did see a DVD release I once encountered at a Shopko in Southeast Wisconsin, and a limited release through Twilight Time's Blu-Ray label.  Both are bare bones however.  I only own the laser disc you see pictured up at the top.  I'm hoping the Arrow folks will eventually push it out over here, or someone else will license the title for American release. 

Example Number Two: 

Outland. Now this is a film. I’m gonna write further about it in a future Spectrum Files entry. In short, it’s an action sci-fi film that is essentially a retelling of High Noon starring Sean Connery, and taking place on one of the moons of Jupiter.  A stellar film directed by Peter Hyams that I won’t go into any more detail with because I selfishly want you to read the other piece. The great thing about it; however, Arrow is releasing a deluxe, special edition with tons of bonus features on it that go above and beyond what I would expect for this film. 

The negative: It’s only on 4K. 

Salem’s Lot time.  I’m sure that if you’ve read this blog, you’re probably tired of hearing about it. Here’s a link to further information on it from me so I don’t have to irritate you by repeating myself: LINK.  The film was released to TV in 1979 which was well over 40 years ago. Finally,  Arrow is coming out with a super deluxe special edition of the mini-series. The special edition I’ve been waiting for forever. 

The problem is: Once again only on 4K. 

Now I did a slight amount of research and found out that the reason that Arrow is doing this is because they and other boutique physical media companies think cinephiles and physical media collectors are in the game for 4K and have left Blu-Ray in the wind.  If it's true that this is their belief, it pisses me off. 

Because it is a bunch of shite.

I’m a collector, but I’ve done most of my film collecting by hunting for the cheapest possible pick up I can find by visiting clearance racks,  Entertainmarts,  Movie Trading Companies, and the cut out bins of Half-Price Books. By going on eBay and trying to hustle the lowest price out of whoever is selling the films. I'm not cheap.  I'm frugal and not wealthy.  I’m also not going to pay $500 for a top-of-the-line 4K player. I can’t afford it. And I’m not the only collector of physical media that feels that anger.  

I mean, Just sitting there and thinking that true fans of film and those that have a collection of hard copies should be 4K owners is really shortsighted. It’s not gonna kill these companies to put a Blu-ray of their 4K upgraded movie out there for those of us who don’t have the 4K player.

It’s kind of insulting, and a little bit elitist, to think that those who collect physical media are only into the high end reproduction, and the rest of us are a bunch of half-wit art and tech-retarded inbreds.  Mind you, these boutique companies do wonderful work: bringing quasi-lost films back from the scrap heap, video and audio remastering, newly filmed documentarian looks back,  archival material that they research and gather, and right on down to the packaging.  Why, they're fucking artists, really.  

Then why cut those nerds among us that can't do the 4k thing, completely out of the running to own these films that have returned from the format grave?  The nerds that buttered your bread as you boutique monsters grew your businesses??

You all can kiss my ass, if that's how you're gonna roll, and suck on a chili dog out behind the tasty freeze. .

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Up at aunt Mae’s

As evidenced by this post here: Those Quiet Moments, I spent some time in Beaver Dam with my dads family. My parents didn’t always bring me up there alone, often going  up there  with siblings. 

I can recall seeing my brother Dan’s red glowing cigarette ember floating in the dark across my Grandma’s living room. I don’t know how well that ended for Dan but it’s one of my earliest memories. But that was at my grandmother‘s house. 

Aunt Mae’s was a different experience. In one of Mae’s spare rooms, My sister Pee Wee and I would sometimes play “The floor is lava” while using the cushions from the “radio bed” as I liked to call it, as flotation devices.  I slept in that room, and I can remember lying in the dark, the only light being from the radio dial and a backlit photograph of Mount Saint Helens that my father had bought for my aunt years before  (I actually still own that picture). The only sound was “Heartache Tonight ” from the radio’s hidden speakers. 

I once owned that piece of furniture too, and it is One of my regrets that I no longer do. 

Anyway, we used the cushions from the stiff  plaid sofa portions of that unit to keep from being consumed to our fiery deaths by the pretend magma beneath us.

I’d often run around in the basement to occupy my time. I was bored after all;  I remember seeing some Bob Hope humor magazines underneath the mattress lid of the footrest ottoman that had been in the basement. 

I didn’t get the jokes.  Especially the cartoon of a bride, asking from the seat next to her groom at a wedding reception for pickles and ice cream.

There was a mini sauna there as well.  It looked like a plastic medieval torture device.  The basement was also adorned by an unfinished bathroom. Unfinished in 1979, and it remained unfinished in the mid 2000s.

My aunt Mae was the owner of the first cable box I ever saw. It was in her living room that I first saw The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, and The Beguiled. (a film which haunts me to this day).  I watched these films later than I should’ve, up on a Saturday evening, as my parents, my aunt Mae and uncle Roger played cards in the kitchen. I can still hear the clinking of glasses, the muffled laughter over whiskey sours and brandy old fashioneds, and the fog of cigarettes. The buzz and crackle from the television that was on a cart in that dining room area, where I first saw the static-hidden teaser trailer for Ridley Scott’s Alien.  

This was a place they entertained themselves so many times over the years. 

There was also a Ben Cooper Wolfman jiggler that I played with often when I was there. Back in 1979, which I think was the last time I was there as a child,  I remember hanging the Wolfman by the little string that was affixed to his back from a peg in the basement pole.  Back in the mid 2000s, when aunt Mae had me over for the first time in many years, I went down into that basement because my uncle Roger wanted to show me something. 

Standing in the glow coming through the basement windows, taken in by the dust floating through the air, wondering if the particles had been there when I was a kid,  I saw something else that definitely had been there in my youth. 

Hanging from the pole was the Wolfman. 

Now, a sibling’s history says that I had a nephew that apparently played with that Wolfman as well,  however he had the decency to always hang it back where I had left it some 20+ years before. I kind of got a chill down my spine when I saw it there. It was almost like that entire basement had been frozen in time. 

I guess in some ways,  it was. 

Technology and Shit

As you can see with this:  TECH, I have a fascination with old technology.  Especially if it is still working and being used successfully.  Now, if you read the link that I have there, you know that I'm obsessed with the media end of it, and maybe the computer end...

The more I think of it, the more it goes from being a mere interest, to being a question of our own humanity in a way. 

Right now Voyager 1 and Voyager 2, are still heading out toward the heliosphere.  They were both launched in 1977.  They're still fucking chugging along. They are powered by plutonium rods (I think), which means they must have small reactors inside them of a sort, hence 50 years of power.  But get this: the information they store is kept on digital 8 track tapes that continually overwrite as necessary.  

They're still sending information back, through radio waves.  The signal is weak because it is traveling across 15 billion miles of space.  That's right, 15 billion!!  So NASA set up antennas that are so strong that they can make sense of those incredibly weak radio transmissions.  Transmissions that take some 22 hours to reach their destinations. 

Here's where it really spins my skull.  In 2024 there was a breakdown with Voyager 1.  It was sending back garbage information.  So they fixed 47 year old technology from 15 billion miles away.  I can't make hide nor hair of what's going on with their McGuyvering, so check this shit out:  NASA

They basically rewrote the code somehow with whatever 1977 computer technology is on that thing using programming here on Earth from the now.  From 15 billion miles away.  

I can't comprehend how smart these people are... I'm lucky if I can tie my shoes. 

But look, man.  Human Americans can reprogram a 50 year old probe that's 15 billion miles from Earth, but we can't figure out how to make a refrigerator, washer/dryer or dishwasher give us 15 solid years without a problem?

These hunks of space program metal are headed toward interstellar space in absolutely frigid temperatures using technology of power, propulsion, computer memory, signal broadcast, instrumentation, heating and who knows what else that were top of the line during the Summer of Sam.  When Ron Guidry was pitching for the Yankees.  When Jimmy Carter was president.  Star Wars was number one at the box office, and Fleetwood Mac's Rumors was the top selling album.  VCRs cost $5,000.00 in todays dollars.

The Voyager twins are continuously sending back information on plasma waves, magnetic fields, cosmic rays, particles, and its own engineering health.  From 15 billion miles away. 

Here on Earth we can't talk to each other and our gubmint has decided just this week to bail on the EPA energy law that was turning the corner on ozone layer depletion, car emissions and power plant releases.  Why?

They felt like we needed to use "beautiful, clean coal" (a fucking oxymoron if there ever was one) more than we were cuz money.  That whole wind, sun, energy thing.... just too much work.  We need to fuck the planet up for our kid's kids because money. 

So we're still learning about what's going on 15 billion miles away in the depths of areas that Ripley and the Nostromo were navigating in Alien (a film only a year younger than the Voyager Twins) while we fuck up our own corner of the Solar System. 

Nice.

A Nice Anniversary

The first movie my dad (Richard, not Robert in this case) took me to see was April 2, 1982. It was the infamous Chuck Norris slasher/kung fu flick known as Silent Rage which I’ve written about before:  here. 

Chuck Norris was kind of connecting point for my dad and I, as A Force of One starring Chuck was one of the first movies we ever rented when we got our first VCR. Spectrum aired Breaker Breaker, and it  was probably the first movie that we ever watched together on there as well. 

Were these movies good?  No. 

Ha ha, no.

although Silent Rage will eternally hold a place in my heart because of its extreme bizarreness, killer score, excellent secondary cast, and the fact that I got to sit next to a man who fell asleep because it wasn’t the movie he thought it would be. I think the snores that he emitted were louder than the film itself.  I’ll Never forget those moments at Kenosha’s Lake 1 and  2 in 1982.

These elements, in a way, cinematically at least, go hand-in-hand with pops.  Whatever Chuck became in the political arena in recent years,  he piloted action cinema of the early 80’s and my dad had admiration, being a boxer himself, for Norris’ skills.   This all acted as a bit of a bonding material when Dad stepped into my mom’s life 40 odd years ago.  

Today I’m reflecting on that with Norris’ recent passing and the anniversary of Rage’s release. 

Will T.

Back in 1990, my friend Matt and I were discussing music, which to be honest, is what we’d do constantly. Matt had told me that he was listening to Chicago’s Steve and Gary show, broadcast on WLUP FM.  They had a musician on that he thought I would find interesting. He told me the singer/songwriter seemed like a country/rock type artist who had somehow named Minneapolis’ The Replacements as an influence. The Replacements were not Matt’s cup of tea, but they were definitely among my favorite artists at the time and still are. Kudos to Matt for going above and beyond and thinking of me. 

The artist was Will T. Massey. 

So I tucked away that for the future and moved onward. Somewhere along the line, Matt and I were at a record store, and I was digging through a cut out bin of cassettes. It was there that I found a promo copy of Will‘s 1990 self-titled debut album.  As a preface to a lot of possible musical stories, "I popped that into my tape deck…" 

I was fucking gobsmacked from the opening track.

From Send Up the Smoke to A Summertime Graveyard, I was just blown away. During the summer of 1990, I was listening to this tape constantly; so much so, that I would see my nephews, Joe and Adam, playing in the other room while I babysat, and Adam would be lip syncing to Send Up the Smoke as he pushed his Tonkas around.  Over the next few years I lost track of that tape and Will T. 

In the late 2000s, I had stumbled across an article about Mr. Massey stating that as the 90s crumbled, Will did along with them. He fell off the map. Turns out he suffered from schizophrenia; this rode him into the ground. After years of being gone, in 2008 or so, he found treatment of a sort. He then popped back on the music scene in the south in 2009. His return included a couple of CDs and an Austin songwriter of the year award in 2012. 

I contacted him directly on Facebook and thanked him for his songs. I told him that Smoke and You Take the Town had been there for me in multiple situations over many years. That the songs had nurtured me through some difficult times more than once.  Will thanked me for loving his art and was glad those songs were there for me. He always closed out his correspondence with:

Peace, 

Will T. 

It wasn’t a penpal relationship. I wasn’t a babbling fan trying to coat him with unwanted attention. It was just a couple of back-and-forth expressions of appreciation, if you will. A friend once told me that the internet shrunk the world. 

and he was right.

I was able to thank Will, as I have been able to do with a few other musical artists as well. But then Will vanished again as quickly as he had popped back up,  Leaving a couple of albums and a bevy of songs in his wake. 

I recently found a blog from one of his cousins,  one that had spent much time with him over the years and misses him deeply to this day. He hasn’t spoken to Will in over eight years.  He hopes Will is still out there and does his damndest to keep Will and his musical legacy alive on his little corner of the internet. You can find the narrative here. Buller's Back Porch

He definitely misses Will and there’s some touching stuff here to be taken in. And in my own way, I want to preserve Will‘s music too. Will touched more than a few lives in his time with his art, and it seems from the comments on the blog he still is . 

Here is Will T.Massey in his 1991 prime on Austin City Limits.

   

Wherever you are, Will, 

Peace. 

Ma & The Atari & The Heart

Some years back, I found out from a great Aunt that I have both Irish and Bohemian blood in me from my Father's side.  So, I guess in a roundabout way, that makes me a Pikey.  In the movie, Snatch, Brad Pitt plays the world's most famous Pikey.  Just like Pitt's character, Mickey O'Neill, I love my Mother.

Christmas of 1980 was a melancholish (not a word, I know) yet joyous affair. A true oxymoron yes. But it was the winter of the Atari 2600.

We didn't actually get an Atari. We got the Sears version, the Tele-Games. Same difference, as the fam would say.

                                    

We all had a blast playing games on it. It was cool to watch Don "turn over" Asteroids. Dan or Pee Wee figured out how to get "double blasts" out of your avatar in Space Invaders. Dad liked sports games. Linda and Dan played Pitfall with me all the time.

                                                Ma only played one game, man. Frogger.

                                 

 
She also almost wriggled out of her orange recliner multiple times in excitement playing the thing, threatening her delicate sacroiliac.  That was hardcore.  Who says "Oh, my sacroiliac!"?

My Ma, that's who.


Sometimes, if you watch Law & Order enough, you learn legal terms. One I picked up on is "excited utterances". What is that, you say?


Says Google: An excited utterance is a statement relating to a startling event or condition, made while the declarant was under the stress of excitement caused by the event. As a hearsay exception (Federal Rule of Evidence 803(2)), it is admissible because the spontaneity and lack of time to reflect are believed to ensure reliability.


So, one day, Ma is really rocking Frogger. She's got that frog flying up and down The Boulevard of Broken Balls as Christopher Walken would say in a noir song on SNL.  Breathlessly, Mom was having one of the best games of her Atari career. And just as she's about to break her personal high, the Frog goes splat. Ma shouts out:


"GOD DOOTS SPASTICH!"


The room freezes. We all stare at each other. And the laughter went on for an hour, maybe more.


A catchphrase was born.  
One that persists to this day.  You should hear Don say it.

Later Mom would almost top this moment by misremembering a mid 80's music video appearance by Dwight Yoakam.  She claimed to be a big fan, and yet told me his name was Dwayne Purvis.  We laughed about that for years. 

Anyways, memories are what this blog is all about.  I went to see my Mom this past summer with Aidan.  She now suffers from dementia. Nothing is harder on memories than that.  Pee Wee has done such a great job getting Ma set up in a home that has made her as happy as Ma can possibly be. My sister deserves all the loves for the effort she's put in. 

When I got up to Wausau from Texas, my niece and great niece Jessica and Tia took Aidan and I to see Ma right away.

I sat in front of her, her hands in mine, Aidan to my right, hand on my back.  Mom wasn't quite sure.  She talked about family, she talked about Dad, memories.  She emotionally thanked Aidan and I for being there.  But I could tell she only had a faint grasp on who she was speaking to.  As she was talking about her kids, she said she had a son. 

A son named Robby.

That's when I said that it was me.  I was right there.  

The light went on. It all came back. The power in that moment was incredible.  She spoke of memories.  Of me.  Of Aidan.  Lichter Road, Somers.  Her brothers, her Mom.

Her girls.  All of them.  How much she loves them.  How much she loves Dan and I, those goofy sons of hers.

I love my Mom so much.  I can't thank Pee Wee and Linda enough for advising me to get up there while Mom still had cognizant moments to function, to be aware.  To remember, and reminisce, and love. 

And of course, give you stuff.  She's always doing that.  That shit ain't new.

But the power of her light turning on.  The look on her face.  The smile in her eyes. 

That was a fucking GOD DOOTS SPASTICH!! moment if there ever was one.  

I love you, Mom.  Thank you. 

Svengoolie

 So as a kid, I can remember a friend and I getting together to watch the Son of Svengoolie 3-D movie. 

Svengoolie is the alter ego of Chicago personality Rich Koz.  Today is his birthday. 

Dateline: July 29, 1982.  The movie is The Revenge of the Creature.  With Clint Eastwood in a cameo as a lab tech!

Anyway, this buddy of mine, his siblings, and I gathered around the television to watch the movie after getting the sunglasses from a local convenience store. 

All he could do was complain. 

He really literally thought that things were going to be flying out of the television during the entire two hour running time of the movie. As young as I was, I understood how it worked. 

I did even try to tell him “it’s only gonna be something that is going to be an element of addition to the movie.” It’s wasn’t going to be the main focus in the thing. Also, the movie is fucking 30 years old! Don’t expect magic!

There was no getting through to him.

   

To this day people complain about the great 3-D disaster. Like a political scandal, which is bullshit. If you would follow instructions and listen to what Sven was saying at the beginning of the program, you would not have had any problems. 

He told you exactly what you needed to do with the technical picture settings on your television to make the 3-D work with the glasses; and  the damn 3-D did work with the glasses!! 

Apparently I was the only one that showed up for that five minute intro to the movie. Regardless, I grew up watching son of svengoolie on the weekends, got a kick out of those classic horror movies that he shared, and his corny jokes that he is still doing to this day. 

God bless Rich Koz, the man himself . 

God bless Svengoolie. 

Happy birthday, Sven!